


Homecoming

by SatelliteSoundwave



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Little bit of manhandling, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, a surprising amount of healthy communication for a self-indulgent pwp fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 15:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13391088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatelliteSoundwave/pseuds/SatelliteSoundwave
Summary: With the threat of the Decepticon Justice Division no longer hanging over their heads, Rodimus finally has a chance to welcome Drift backproperly. (And in doing so he realizes that things between them aren’t exactly how they used to be, but maybe they’re better).





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after reading _The Dying of The Light_ arc as pure self indulgence, then rediscovered it in my wip folder and decided that there can never be too much driftrod smut in the world and I'm proud enough of this to release it into the wild

Rodimus has thought a lot about Drift coming back – mostly after Ratchet left, but a bit before too – and it turns out reality isn’t anywhere near as awkward and uncomfortable as he was expecting.

There’s a lot of stuff he’d thought would be a given, like, okay, Drift hating him. Or, if not hating, then being pretty angry. At least a little bit angry. Rodimus had developed fine-tuned strategies to placate Drift and win him back over for if Drift had confronted him, or had ignored Rodimus as much as being part of the command staff would let him, or a dozen other unpleasant ways things could have gone once Drift came back.

Turns out he didn’t need any of them. Drift didn’t slot right back in where he’d left, exactly, but he’d been willing to forgive. Which Rodimus isn’t entirely sure he deserves, but he’ll take it. They hang out again, and Drift is still up for every daring plan that Rodimus can cook up. They fit back together so easily. For the most part.

The part that isn’t the most, though, is this; they’re in the private berthroom that Rodimus had called dibs on in the Necrobot’s fortress, and Rodimus has been sitting on the berth and investing the last little while into subtly trying to coax Drift to slide between his legs, and Drift has stayed standing back, not quite out of Rodimus’s reach.

Before Drift left Rodimus had kind of thought they were casual frag buddies, but you don’t miss a frag buddy the way that he’s missed kissing Drift. He’s thought a _lot_ about being able to touch Drift again, and his spark’s spinning faster in his chest, but going by the slightly green tint to the blue of Drift’s optics, something is bothering him. Rodimus has a sinking feeling that he knows what it is.

“Okay, this is painfully awkward.” Rodimus slides off the slab, because this is not a conversation to have lounging across the berth. “So I thought I was pretty up front about inviting you back to mine to bump uglies, not just hang out or whatever.” A little half formed laugh kinda falls out of Rodimus’s mouth and dies a protracted death hanging in the space between them. “But I guess I wasn’t. Or you didn’t feel like you could say no without making it weird.”

Drift looks away from him for a moment, a little flicker of his optics. “It’s not –”

“You don’t have to do this or, or anything.” Rodimus blurts. “You don’t have to, I don’t know, buy your way back in. I mean, that would be all kinds of messed up since I sort of made you leave in the first place.”

Rodimus fidgets, glaring down at the floor, and crosses his arms over his chest.

The silence drags on until he can’t help but steal a glance up at Drift’s face. Drift’s not looking at him either, his expression drawn in concentration like he’s searching for just the right words.

Drift’s hand comes up to touch Rodimus’s arm, curling around Rodimus’s wrist. He tugs lightly, a gentle suggestion that Rodimus lower his arms, and tilts his head to the berth. “Sit with me?”

They sit, side by side. Rodimus leans back on one hand, the other tapping nervous fingers against the berth in an off-tempo rhythm.

“I haven’t been on my own – not just literally, but without a cause, for a long time.” Drift says. His hands are steady, but they always are. Trained to stillness for perfect aim, no matter the conditions. “Being cast out from the Lost Light gave me a chance to think… it _made_ me think. Ratchet says I’m the kind of person who needs a cause to believe in, to follow.” Drift chuckles under his breath, a complicated little sound that isn’t entirely humour. “He’s got a point. I still believe in our quest, in finding the Knights. I still believe in you, Rodimus. But letting myself take on the most convenient persona for my adopted cause, I’ve realised I can’t keep doing it. It never leads me anywhere good.”

Drift’s unfocused, half lost in thought. He runs a hand over the autobrand on his chest and frowns, like he might be remembering back to when he wore a different emblem.

Drift continues, “So I need to push back a bit I guess. And I know you, Roddy. You’re not the kind of person who’d make me trade my frame for forgiveness. But what are _you_ looking to get out of this?”

Rodimus cocks his head. “What do you mean? I was kinda hoping to get under your armour. I thought that was obvious?”

Drift’s hand settles on top of his, stilling the anxious tap of his fingers. The outside of Drift’s thigh is warm where it presses against Rodimus’s, and the soft purr of Drift’s engine has kicked up to a frequency Rodimus has come to think of as ‘down to frag’, but the hand on his doesn’t feel like Drift’s making a move. It feels reassuring.

“Yeah,” Drift snorts. “But you know how you said I don’t have to buy my way back in, it goes both ways. You don’t have to convince me to stay.”

“Oh.” Ah. It wouldn’t be the first time that Rodimus had opened his array because it was what he thought somebody else was angling for, rather than in actual desire. But that’s genuinely not what he was going for here. He mock bumps his shoulder against Drift’s. “Way to call me easy.”

Drift’s expression eases a bit. “Honesty is a virtue.”

“Honesty, huh?”

Rodimus flips his hand over, interlacing their fingers. His spark gives a heady pulse, and his free hand rubs at the back of his neck, soothing tense cables.

“Honestly, I missed you a lot. _A lot_ a lot. You leaving made me realise some stuff too, I think. I thought about,” Rodimus makes a sweeping gesture at nothing in particular, “the future, _my_ future, and I realised how much I wanted you to always be in it. That I couldn’t stand the idea that you’d never be part of my life again. It was a big part of… of why I didn’t try to find you, after I told the crew that the stuff with Overlord was my fault. I couldn’t imagine that you’d still want anything to do with me, and I was too scared to hear that from you for real.”

Drift tugs, gently, on the hand he’s holding, and Rodimus somehow manages to look up from his feet and meet his optics.

“I want that.” Drift says.

It shouldn’t even be a surprise at this point, but a tangle of shock and relief still stalls Rodimus’s engine. “What, really?”

“To face the future with you? Yes.” Drift smiles.  

“That’s great! Really great. I mean I already got that we were good again but turns out it really makes a difference hearing it out loud? Um. Is it weird to say thank you?”

Even Rodimus can tell he’s babbling, god he needs to stop himself or he’s going to say something stupid or embarrassing or both. Time to get things back on track to why he originally invited Drift back to his place, before that can happen.

Rodimus lounges back into the most seductive sprawl he can manage with one of his hands occupied holding Drift’s, playing it up way over the top because he knows it’ll make Drift laugh, but with him, not at him.

“Okay, if we’re all done with the mushy stuff then can I _finally_ suck your spike?”

Drift’s cooling fans catch. _Affirmative received, loud and clear._

“If you insist.” Drift laughs.

Drift leans in, untangling their hands to pull Rodimus forward by the chestplate so Drift can kiss him. Drift’s engine revs so hard Rodimus’s plating vibrates where they’re pressed together.

Drift zeros in on Rodimus’s neck cables the moment he breaks the kiss and his vocaliser fizzes with a static lased moan as Drift’s glossa worms around a primary cable in his neck to tease at the sensitive, sheltered wires beneath.

That’s, okay, that’s _very_ nice. He soaks up the pleasure until Drift moves on, kissing his way back up Rodimus’s throat. Rodimus pushes him back a little to get enough space to slide off the edge of the berth and kneel between Drift’s knees, easy as muscle memory even with the new frame to navigate.

Rodimus smooths his palm up the warm metal of Drift’s thigh, stopping just shy of his modesty panel, tracing the seam.

Drift hooks a leg around Rodimus’s shoulder and tugs him forward, overbalancing him, and the only thing that saves Rodimus from faceplanting right into Drift’s lap are the hands suddenly cupping his helm.

“Don’t tease.” Drift purrs.

The steadying hands turn to gentle downward pressure as Drift’s modesty panel slides aside and his spike pressurizes. It’s different from his old one, mostly white but with red accents and no biolights. And a bit longer, maybe? Rodimus drags his glossa across the tip, tasting the tang of prefluid as Drift makes a soft, pleased sound.

Rodimus leans in, tracing his glossa down to Drift’s spike housing, taking his time familiarising himself with Drift’s new spike. He tongues the line of a segment where white meets red near the base, and is rewarded by a little twitch of Drift’s hips. Rodimus smirks as best he can with his glossa stuck out and commits the new sensitive spot to memory.

He takes one hand off Drift’s thigh to cup Drift’s still closed valve panel, but Drift’s grip on his helm tightens briefly and he reaches down to pull Rodimus’s hand away.

“You okay?” Rodimus leans back to get a read of Drift’s expression, leaving his spike tragically unattended.

“I’m good. Just not in the mood to break in a new valve right now.” Drift says.

Rodimus doesn’t actually pout, but that does take a couple of plans he’d been looking forward to out of the options for tonight. But, well, fair enough.

He leans back in, closes his mouth around the head of Drift’s spike and sucks. Little snaps of electricity arc from nodes on Drift’s spike and tingle the inside of his mouth. Drift chokes on a noise and his hands turn forceful, and hey, Rodimus isn’t the kind of mech to pass up the opportunity to show off. He goes with the pressure and takes in more of Drift’s spike, feels it bump the back of his intake. Drift’s cooling fans are roaring loud enough to drown out Rodimus’s own.   

Rodimus’s array pings him with a request to open, his spike aching to pressurize. He dismisses the request, running a feedback loop that will keep his spike panel closed without him needing to think about it. Right now he wants to focus.

Rodimus hums deep in his vocaliser and Drift arches, bucks his hips. _Ain’t seen nothing yet_ , Rodimus thinks to himself and then pulls out the big guns; he relaxes his intake and loosens his jaw and takes Drift further, into the clutching grip of his throat tubing, keeping up that hum all the while.

Rodimus’s denta bump Drift’s spike housing and Drift makes a sound that is _absolutely_ a squeak, Rodimus is _so_ going to tease him about that later. Drift thrust his hips in uncoordinated instinct, Rodimus chokes as his spike somehow slides that much deeper. The _snick_ of Rodimus’s valve panel snapping open is lost amidst the moans and fans and slick sounds of his mouth, but he feels the hot slide of lubricant down the inside of his thighs.

Rodimus’s valve pulses in time with the bruised ache of his intake and it just makes him hotter.

He slides back up Drift’s spike, letting it rest on the soft metal mesh of his lips as he presses a hand between his thighs. Grinding his palm against his anterior node pulls a moan right out of the core of him, it’s good, it’s so good, the pressure of his hand and the taste of Drift in his mouth igniting hot sparks of pleasure that curl through his frame.

Drift’d had his head tipped back, giving Rodimus a beautiful view of his throat working as he’d gasped, but he looks down as Rodimus moans. Fondness softens his smile as he unhooks the leg from Rodimus’s shoulder and uses his foot to push Rodimus’s knees wider apart.

“C’mon,” Drift rasps, voice laced with static, “let me see.”

Rodimus grins around the tip of Drift’s spike and ups the ante, changing the angle of his hand so that Drift can see as he slides two fingers into himself. He locks optics with Drift as his callipers squeeze hungrily and he scissors his fingers apart, pushing back against his own mechanisms, and primus the _stretch_. Without meaning to Rodimus’s optics shutter and his hips buck, spearing himself harder, deeper, twisting his fingers and hitting a sweet spot that has him gasping.

Drift’s spike slips fully out of his mouth, smearing a wet trail of pre-fluid down his chin.

Hands catch at his spoilerwings and push him down flat on his back. He onlines his optics and Drift is crouching over him, keeping him pinned by the spoiler, pushing Rodimus’s thighs to spread wider and accommodate him until the cables in his legs pull taught and quiver with near over extension. Rodimus bucks up just to feel Drift push him back down, and his engine gives a happy rev.

Rodimus’s hand is trapped between them, snaps of electrical current arcing off Drift’s spike to snap at the back of his wrist. Drift grinds his hips down, pushing Rodimus’s fingers further into himself, the new angle pressing them against sensors he couldn’t reach before.

He tries to buck his hips up to chase the feeling, stoke the charge building in him, but Drift is immovable, keeping Rodimus pressed flat to the floor, and it’s _not enough_ damn it.

He gives up on trying to move himself and wraps his legs around Drift’s hips instead, pulling Drift harder against him. A fresh wash of hot air vents from Drift’s frame and _yep,_ Rodimus congratulates himself, _that’s the ticket._

Rodimus arches as best he can, his head _thunking_  backagainst the floor as spinal struts bow, as he flicks his spoilerwings under Drift’s hands in a way that invites him to pin them down harder.

“For frag’s sake Drift, get _in_ me.” Rodimus pants.

He’s pretty sure there are supposed to be words in the noise Drift makes, but they blend with the harsh rev of Drift’s engine into a growl.

Drift lifts up enough to seize Rodimus’s occupied hand and pull it out from between them, and the noise Rodimus makes as his fingers slide out of his valve is damn near wounded. He pins it by the wrist next to Rodimus’s head and, if he wasn’t a complete fragger, this would be the point where he slides in and gives them both some relief. But no, instead he thrusts down languidly, his spike sliding against the lips of Rodimus’s valve. His spike is getting slicker by the second, coating in the lubricant dripping from Rodimus’s valve with every hopeful squeeze.

Rodimus bats at his shoulder with his free hand and huffs. “Who’s teasing now?”

“You love it.” Drift chuckles.

Fuck, he does, Drift’s spike grazing his anterior node every other thrust has him whining. But it’s been so long, and he wants more.

Rodimus props one foot on the floor and splays his other leg out wider, the position opening him up, spreading his valve lips. The next gentle thrust has Drift’s spike sliding between them and he moans as it brushes nodes just inside. Drift hums a pleasured, harmonic note and presses in. Rodimus can _feel_ his valve stretching wide around the head that's pushing in slowly because Drift knows just how to get his engine revving.

With a pop Drift is inside him, properly inside, charge already leaping from his spike to earth itself in the nodes of Rodimus’s valve. Rodimus can’t stop the breathy noises he’s making and doesn’t really want to. He flails with his free hand to grab Drift’s head by a final and drag him down for a messy kiss, all glossa and happy desperation.

Drift hilts himself in a slow, smooth thrust. Frag, has it always been this good? They come together so perfectly, and Rodimus doesn’t ever want to be apart again.

Their mouths slip apart and they both pant roughly as Drift jerks his hips. Rodimus’s stretched callipers squeeze happily and he bucks into the thrust. Drift’s grip on his wrist turns denting and that pushes Rodimus’s building charge higher, still higher, just a bit more…

Drift’s thrusts turn short and erratic. He’s moaning Rodimus’s name like it’s the only word he knows, his optics flaring brighter blue as charge crests in his system.

Rodimus clenches his valve deliberately, so tight he can feel each segment of Drift’s spike inside him. Drift's whole frame tenses with overload. Liquid heat spills deep inside Rodimus and he fumbles between them for his anterior node. Drift grinds his hips down suddenly and Rodimus shouts as the charge inside him ignites and pleasure cascades through his systems.

Coming down from his own overload, the first thing Rodimus is aware of is his valve still rippling around Drift’s spike, milking it in a way that feels good with the last flickers of charge still crackling through him but is rapidly becoming too much. Drift is sprawled strutlessly across his frame, venting so much heat he could be Rodimus’s own personal star.

“Get off,” Rodimus mumbles, pushing weakly at Drift’s shoulders.

Drift just groans in reply, picking himself up onto knees and elbows. Rodimus’s valve spasms at the change in angle, yep, definitely getting too sensitive now.

Drift slides out as gently as he can and flops down on the floor next to Rodimus.

“We should get up.” Drift sighs after a moment.

“Uh huh.” Rodimus grunts.

“Or at least on the berth.”

“Uh huh.”

Neither of them try to move.

Rodimus sprawls out on the floor, kinda dazed in the best way possible. He’d be pretty content to lie here with Drift for the next small eternity, but with a burst of effort he manages to roll over to face Drift, and curls into his side. He nuzzles Drift’s face, presses an uncoordinated kiss to one of the red lines beneath his optics.

“Hey. Thanks for coming back.”

**Author's Note:**

> I also have [a tumblr](http://satellitesoundwave.tumblr.com/) where I reblog a lot of pictures of robots, if that's your thing


End file.
